


Poetic

by StarlightOnInk



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Beach cuddles, Fluff, France/Russia - Freeform, Frussia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rare Pairings, Russia/France - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 21:18:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11745378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightOnInk/pseuds/StarlightOnInk
Summary: Francis also had a look, a special smile that Ivan had never seen anyone else receive. It was consistent with that strange mindset Francis had that he was some kind of treasure, a rare soul of beauty and heartbreak, all the more beautiful for any blemishes- these were some of Francis’s musings after a few too many glasses of champagne, after Ivan had asked from across their dinner table why Francis said yes…





	Poetic

**Poetic**

 The sun sent down waves of gentle caresses, the rays blanketing all beneath them in a veil of contentment. Waves swayed forward and back in their eternal dance, providing a soothing ambiance. From beneath the protective shade of their shared umbrella, Ivan allowed himself a long languid stretch as, beside him, Francis lay sprawled out on a beach towel, sparkling blue eyes hidden behind designer sunglasses, apparently dozing and looking every part the successful model. Ivan considered reaching over to the cooler, perhaps retrieving some fresh ice water, but found he couldn’t bring himself to disrupt the moment of peace and relaxation between the two of them. Instead, he opted to laying back down, the hairs on Francis’s limp arm tickling his pale flesh as he sighed contentedly.

 He chanced a sideways glance at Francis, whose chest rose and fell in time with the waves. Although Francis could not see it, the smile that blossomed over Ivan’s face was for him and him alone.

 “I hope I can someday let you know how grateful I am,” he murmured sleepily. “For…everything. I needed a mentor, and you were fine with being one, no matter how lost I felt. I appreciated it so much,” he confessed, staring at the handsome face he had known for so long. It was true; when he was expected to change everything about him, the splendor of France had seemed something unattainable, something to be viewed from afar but never approached directly, for fear of blemishing such marvels. Francis had moved about his daily routines with an easy, regal grace Ivan, with his bulky clumsiness, dared not dream of. When he first began seeking guidance, he had so many questions, so many areas that his leader felt needed refining. Francis had never once lost his patience.

 “And you always looked at me differently than everyone else. As if…as if…”

 As if he were special, as if he were someone to be cherished. But God above, it had just left Ivan hoping for some way to let Francis know it was actually _he_ who deserved such looks, the man of beauty and class and love.

 “I still cannot believe you said yes,” Ivan muttered, the words dragging themselves from his mouth, unbidden, the constant pessimism always finding a way to make its presence known. “I almost did not ask you- I thought it might just prove a waste of time. I did not want to lose all the wonderful things we had.” Like the long hours of intense debate about, well, anything and everything: the arts, politics, philosophy, and so forth. Francis did not hold back from contradicting Ivan if their opinions differed, but he always listened, brow furrowed in contemplation, sometime surrendering the tiniest nod of the head or a soft hum of interest.

 Francis also had a look, a special smile that Ivan had never seen anyone else receive. It was consistent with that strange mindset Francis had that he was some kind of treasure, a rare soul of beauty and heartbreak, all the more beautiful for any blemishes- these were some of Francis’s musings after a few too many glasses of champagne, after Ivan had asked from across their dinner table why Francis said yes…

 And of course Ivan made a point of trying to return the favor any way he knew how, which he proceeded to confess to Francis’s sleeping figure. “But why you wanted me to perform with the ballet troupe I will never know,” he chuckled through a large yawn. “You have seen me dance before.”

 “It is never enough,” came a velvety voice, and Ivan’s violet eyes snapped down at Francis’s now smiling countenance as he pushed his sunglasses out of the way, revealing very open, very awake pools of blue. Heat that had nothing to do with the blazing sun bloomed in Ivan’s cheeks, and he could only hope his face did not look as red as it felt.

 “You were supposed to be asleep,” he said rather accusatorily.

 Francis merely shrugged, patting the spot beside him in invitation. Ivan grudgingly laid back down beside him. “I never said I was. You know how assumptions are. And you know how I love when you share your more…poetic side.” He flashed him a suave smile.

 Ivan merely gave a low hum, eyes narrowed as he poked a thick finger against Francis’s side, eliciting a musical giggle. “I will not be sharing any more poetics if you keep this attitude up,” he warned.

 Francis took up a wounded expression. “But you shall be depriving me! I love seeing your sentimental side!” he exclaimed, and something in his expression looked…genuine. Ivan gave him a soft smile of his own; the traditions of smiling in Russia meant that such treasures were reserved for when they were truly felt, and lately Francis had been seeing a lot of them. As one of Ivan’s calloused hands carded gently through his long honey blond locks, Francis’s own hand grasped Ivan’s unoccupied one and gave it a squeeze. “I know true beauty as I know true love, _cher_ , and all of our time together is a treasure to me.”

 “As it is to me,” Ivan said, violet meeting blue, hoping to convey some of the joy he felt any time they were together: casual strolls through cultural exhibits, ice skating, trips to the store, even the phone calls, carefully scheduled to accommodate for the difference in time zones.

 Apparently he was successful, because Francis’s smile became not only wider, but more meaningful as he muttered “Je t'aime.”

 “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.”

 THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the one line in Rest Stop by Matchbox Twenty, "While you were sleeping..." Except this is actually positive and fluffy, as opposed to being kicked out of an RV three miles from a rest stop. FRussia needs more appreciation. Enjoy!


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